


Wolfboy

by helvel



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Giant horny werewolf?, Kemonomimi, M/M, Silly, Turning into a werewolf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:35:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24225205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helvel/pseuds/helvel
Summary: "When I woke up from that fever in Colter, everything felt different.Realdifferent. Like something'd changed in me. I could smell things, hear things. Only it's getting worse, and..." John glances up with wide, terrified eyes. "… I ain't even told you the worst of it yet."Icy dread pools in Arthur's stomach. "What's the worst of it?""This morning, I woke up with...this."
Relationships: John Marston/Arthur Morgan
Comments: 9
Kudos: 97





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Posted this a few weeks back, deleted it, here it is again with another chapter. Please indulge in this deeply silly idea with me.

The icy wind carries John's voice through the mountains as he calls for help. Arthur struggles towards the sound. John can't be much further - his voice is growing louder – but the snow is getting deeper, and the wind is getting colder, and there's a strange scent in the air, dark and musky. Something about it makes Arthur hesitate when he sees the ridge ahead. He moves closer, slowly, until he can peer down over the ledge. 

John's not there. A huge black wolf snarls up at him instead, with long, bloodied teeth like knives bared to attack. 

It lunges for him- 

Arthur wakes with his heart nearly pounding out of his chest. He drags a hand down his sweaty face as he sits up, trying to clear his head. A dream... it was only a dream, but he still edges to the foot of his cot to peer over at John's tent. 

The tent is exactly where he expects it to be, because John didn't die in the Grizzlies, or whatever else happened in that dream. They brought him back to Colter, and got him through the fever, and he came to Horseshoe Overlook with the rest of them. John's just fine... relatively speaking. He's a greasy bastard and a piece of shit father, and a pain in the ass to boot, and Arthur doesn't care if he lives or dies, but still, Arthur asks around, casual, where Marston's gone off to, until someone tells him John went to Valentine, and Arthur decides he needs to pick up a few supplies himself. 

It's a quick ride to town in the warm spring morning. Arthur hitches his horse near the gunsmith and peers inside. No sign of anyone he knows in there. He starts down the board sidewalk, looking this way and that. A woman clutches her purse tighter to her side as he passes. She ain't wrong to think that about him, but Arthur's got a different sort of mark in mind today. 

The sort of mark that's tall, skinny as a beanpole, and badly in need of a wash. 

One such person slinks by. It takes a second glance for Arthur to realize it's just who he's looking for, mostly because that person is dressed in Arthur's own blue winter jacket. 

_Bastard,_ Arthur thinks. John's been taking his stuff without asking ever since they picked him up as a kid, and apparently he still hasn't outgrown the habit. Strange that he took the jacket, of all things. The spring day is much too warm to need it... 

The general store seems to be John's destination. He disappears inside, and Arthur stops outside the door, in just such a place where he can see in through the window, and casually lights a cigarette. 

He'll figure out what that shifty bastard is up to yet. 

John flips through the catalog on the counter. He points something out to the shopkeeper. He's been acting strange lately, and Arthur has half a mind to believe he's about to bolt again. Good riddance – Jack and Abigail would be better off without him in their lives – but if he takes Arthur's favorite jacket, Arthur's going to have to go after him. He watches John out of the corner of his eye, until something steps into the other corner and sneers up at him. 

"You got a lot of nerve showing yerself around here," the man says. 

Arthur spares him a glance. He's one of the fellers they brawled with a few days past, one of Tommy's friends, still sporting some well-deserved bruises. 

"Ain't looking for no trouble," Arthur tells him, calm, as he shifts just enough to show his hand resting on the grip of his pistol. 

The feller takes a step back. "I'll call the law," he warns. 

"Go call 'em, then. Or are you going to stick around so I can lay you out the same way I did that big bastard?" 

Inside the shop, Arthur can just see the shopkeeper handing John his purchase. John heads for the back door. 

Dropping his cigarette, Arthur waves away the trembling feller. "You ain't worth my time," he says, before taking off down the alley. 

He rounds the corner at the same moment John steps out the door, with enough speed to knock John flat on his ass. 

"Godammit! Watch where you're going, will you?" John snarls as he scrambles for his fallen hat. 

Arthur managed to hang on to the paper-wrapped package when they collided. He shakes it open. It turns out to be a long, black duster jacket. 

"The Hell?" Arthur wonders. First John stole Arthur's jacket, now he bought this one. Arthur looks at John for any signs of jacket-induced delirium, and notices, as John stuffs his hat back on his head, something very, _very_ strange. 

"Give it back," John mutters when he gets to his feet. He reaches for the jacket. Arthur pulls it out of reach, and swings a hand up to knock John's hat clean off his head. 

There, amid the stringy black strands of hair on top of his head, were... 

Dog ears? 

"What are you wearing those for, Marston?" Arthur asks, laughing, "Is it some kind of game you and Abi like to play? You dress up in a costume like a cute little puppy, and she scolds you for piddling on the carpet, or what?" 

"Piss off," John growls, though there's no heat to it. He looks downright miserable. "… They ain't a costume." 

Arthur laughs harder. "Oh, she's got you trained _good_ then." 

"No, I mean, uh. They're... they're real." John swallows. "They just sort of... grew." 

The look of horror on his face is genuine enough to make Arthur pause, even though he knows this is all ridiculous. "You think I'm going to believe that?" 

John's shoulders hunch up to his ears – the human ears, not the furry little ones he must have pinned on somehow. "I don't care much what you believe, so get on out of here and stop bothering me." He makes a grab for the jacket. 

"Marston, you're telling me that..." 

No, no, Arthur isn't going to fall for it. He reaches for John's hat to lift it off his head. There are those ears again. Arthur looks, but he can't see any pins holding the dog ears in place. They look real, despite how impossible that is. Or at least that's what Arthur thinks, until a gust of wind picks up, and the furry ears twitch in the breeze. 

It can't be... 

Arthur stuffs the hat back on John's head. After a moment to contemplate his own sanity, he drags John away from town and any prying eyes that might witness what's got to be some sort of shared delusion. 

John, surprisingly, doesn't put up any protest at all. He lets Arthur pull him along until they reach the tree line, then heels like an obedient dog as Arthur removes his hat again. 

The ears are still there. Pointed at the tip and covered in black fur that looks very soft. 

"What the Hell..." Arthur mutters. 

"That's about what I've been thinking, too," John agrees. He stares at the ground, nearly shy about it. "Just woke up with them, about a week back." 

"That's why you've been so shifty. Twitching at every sound." 

John nods. "It's loud. I can hear... everything." He drags his fingers through his hair, and it's so reminiscent of a dog scratching its head that it would almost be cute, if it weren't John doing it. "I don't know what happened. When I woke up from that fever in Colter, everything felt different. _Real_ different. Like something'd changed in me. I could smell things, hear things. Only it's getting worse, and..." John glances up with wide, terrified eyes. "… I ain't even told you the worst of it yet." 

Icy dread pools in Arthur's stomach. "What's the worst of it?" 

"This morning, I woke up with... _this._ " 

Turning his back to Arthur, John pulls aside the jacket to reveal a long, black tail, swishing gently in the breeze. 

A tail... there's no way Arthur is falling for this shit. It's far too reminiscent of the stupid tricks John loved to pull as a kid. Arthur reaches for the tail, grabs it, and gives it a sharp yank. 

John hollers loud enough that the sparrows scatter from a nearby tree. 

"What the Hell did you do that for?!" John snarls. Teeth bared and ears back, he looks like he's about to lunge at Arthur's throat. Arthur takes a step back, and feels, against his better judgement, guilty. 

"Easy there, Marston. I just didn't believe my eyes. It's... it's strange, alright." _Strange_ doesn't begin to scratch the surface of John sprouting dog ears and a tail. "I won't do it again. Just c'mere, let me get a better look at it." 

"No fucking way." 

" _Marston._ " 

With the utmost reluctance and his furry ears still flat against his head, John turns his back to Arthur and moves aside the jacket again. 

It explains why he took Arthur's jacket, at least, and why he went to buy one of his own. There's no other way he could hide the tail. His clothes fit uncomfortably around it, jeans low on his hips and bunched up where the waistband meets the tail. His union suit shows beneath, and oddly enough, the tail sticks out the back of it like the flap was design for just that purpose. 

Arthur wraps a hand around the base of the tail. It's... warm. Just like a dog's tail would be. And it does appear to be attached to John, from the much more gentle tug Arthur gives it this time. 

John whimpers. His ears are flat against his head again. 

"That hurt?" Arthur asks. 

With a shudder, John shakes his head. "No. Just... sensitive." 

There's something raw in his voice that Arthur recognizes from long ago. He knows that tremble... He's nearly put his finger on it, when the tail twitches in his hand – or wags, rather. 

A grin spreads over Arthur's face. "Oh, it's _that_ kind of sensitive." 

He gives the tail another gentle tug that pulls John back against his chest. He tries the ears as well, taking one between his fingers. The fur is softer there, fine and smooth like John's hair. It twitches as responsively as the tail had. "Are these sensitive too?" 

"Ah. _.._ um..." 

Eyes closed, John pants for breath. The tail wags happily against Arthur's hip. 

Over John's shoulder, Arthur can see the growing bulge at the front of his jeans. John paws at it absently. The sight makes a long-forgotten heat pool in Arthur's belly. It's been years since they've done anything like this... since before John fucked off to God-knows-where for an entire year. That thought would be enough to sour Arthur's arousal at any other time, but the ears and tail twitching in Arthur's hands are new and strange enough that he can't think of much else. A gentle scratch behind the ears has John melting against him, and Arthur's other hand reaches around to take over where John has managed to get his jeans open. 

It doesn't take much with the way the new sensations overwhelm John. He whines and whimpers as Arthur strokes him, and finally, when the wagging tail is beating a rhythm strong enough to bruise Arthur's thigh, Arthur takes it in hand again to give a sharp tug that sends John howling over the edge. 

John staggers forward, catching himself against a tree. The stolen blue jacket falls down to cover the tail again, but beneath, Arthur can still see it wagging lazily. 

"S-shit," John pants, "Arthur... you, you can't tell anyone about this." 

John's got his back to Arthur, so Arthur doesn't worry about hiding the fond old smile on his face. "You know I ain't one to kiss and tell." 

"I mean about _this._ " John gestures vaguely to the ears and tail that have sprouted out of him, for reasons unexplained. 

"Who'd believe me if I did? Just try not to get too excited. That tail wags when you're happy, y'know?" 

Having somewhat regained the use of his legs, John pushes himself upright again. "That's what I got the jacket for. Cover it up." He shrugs out of Arthur's jacket and swaps it for the black duster he picked up in town. For the first time, Arthur notices the strange scent that clings to him – dark, musky, and almost familiar. It brings Arthur back to the dream he'd woken from when this bizarre day started. 

"Hey, Marston... about the, uh, new features... you think it was from them wolves that bit you?" 

John thinks about it for a moment. "And I got... infected, or something?" 

Arthur nods. He'd thought the ears and tail were like those of a dog, but there were strange legends about what the bite of a wolf could do. "Now you're turning into one of them. Christ, I hope it doesn't go both ways, and there's not a wolf somewhere out there turning into you... skinny, greasy, shit for brains... wouldn't wish that on anyone." 

The cruelty comes back just as easy as the affection had, but John looks so small and afraid that he might as well be eleven years old again. 

"Turning into one of them... what the Hell am I going to do, Arthur?" 

Arthur shakes his head. "We'll... we'll figure something out." 


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur has seen a lot of strange things in his life. Ghostly apparitions, glowing lights in the sky, bones of giant lizards that apparently once walked the earth. If a wolf bite might be the cause of the new furry appendages John is sporting, well, Arthur is just willing to believe that it's true. 

It might explain how John when from half-froze and chewed to pieces and burning up with a fever, to perfect health in the span of a few days in Colter. His strength returned, his wounds healed. Now, before any of them ever expected it, the scratches over his face have closed enough that it's time for the stitches to come out. 

"Now hold still," Abigail tells him, "Christ, you're twitching like you've got fleas or somethin'!" 

John sits at her feet obediently as she cuts out the stitches. Arthur knows that look on his face. Stoic, with just the hint of a grimace. Even with Abigail's gentle touch, removing the stitches _hurts,_ and tough boy Marston is doing his best to hide it. 

"... Did you just growl at me?" Abigail asks. 

Arthur edges closer to them. He's the only one aware of John's new predicament, and they want to keep it that way. Problem is, there are few more canine quirks that accompany the ears and tail... that growl being one of them. Arthur can't let this get out of hand. 

"Just keep going," John grits out. "How many more stitches are left?" 

"Only the one on your nose." 

The stoic grimace intensifies. Close as it is to the bone, that stitch has been bothering John more than any of the others. "Go on, then." 

Abigail clips the stitch, gently. She makes to pull the thread free, and at the first tug, all Hell breaks loose. 

There's a snarl, a shriek, and a great deal of clatter as Abigail recoils from John's snapping teeth. She topples backwards out of the chair and hits the ground, hand clutched to her chest. 

" _The Hell!?_ " she shrieks at John. 

Arthur is at her side at once, snatching up her hand so roughly that she screams again. There's no bite mark. John didn't break the skin. _Thank Christ._ She's trembling like a leaf, though, and her eyes are wide as dinner plates as she stares at John. 

John had recoiled as well, and hit the ground just as hard. His hat rolled away into the underbrush when he fell. On top of his head, his furry ears are laid flat in terror. 

Hosea, nearby, lets out a weary sigh as he observes the ears. "Just as I expected. I knew something like this had happened." 

That's such a bizarre statement that Arthur doesn't even try to figure out what it means. He grabs John's hat from the ground and sticks it back over the ears. It's too late. The commotion drew a crowd, and now there's a circle of people around them staring. 

"Oi, Marston," Sean calls out, "Don't be shy. Show us your little costume again!" 

"Very cute, John." 

"They looked almost real..." 

"Were those... dog ears?" 

"Wolf," Hosea says, "From the ones that bit him. That was when this started, right?" 

All heads turn to John, who's red as a beet and maybe five seconds away from mauling all of them. 

Miss Grimshaw, bless her soul, chooses that moment to scream at everyone to get back to work. The crowd scatters reluctantly, while Hosea waves John into the privacy of his tent. 

"Come on, John. Let's talk." 

Hosea has offered them all plenty of sagely wisdom over the years, and somehow it seems fitting that he's entirely unsurprised by this turn of events. He examines John's furry ears like a doctor might (or maybe a veterinarian). Finally Hosea sits back and rubs his chin in contemplation. 

"I've seen this sort of infection before. Only once, mind you. Knew a feller who got bit by a rabbit, grew long ears and a fluffy tail." 

"Oh, come on," Arthur scoffs, "That ain't true, is it?" 

"... What happened to him?" John asks, like he barely wants to know the answer. 

Hosea shrugs. "Got trampled by a horse." 

John goes pale. "So... I'm going to die?" 

"No, no, of course not. That feller was a fool before the bite, just got what was coming to him with a rabbit brain. A wolf bite, now – you might find something good from that. Your hearing is better now, right? And sense of smell? And the tail – hm, you've got the tail already, haven't you?" 

John nods. Abigail gasps. 

"Well, that's good for balance. And swatting flies, I suppose." 

Arthur would laugh, if John didn't look ready to combust. 

"You're talking like this is nothing! Hosea, I’m turning into a Goddammed wolf!" 

Hosea doesn't even flinch at John's snarling. "Easy there, John," he tries, but John's too hot-headed, and he does exactly what he always does when things get too much to handle – he runs. Arthur barely steps out of the way as John storms off, while Abigail turns to Hosea with wide, tearful eyes. 

"Is there really nothing we can do about it?" 

Hosea sighs. "I'm not sure, to be honest. Heard of a witchdoctor in Ambarino, might go see if she knows anything." 

Abigail thanks him, while Arthur follows John into the forest. 

He finds John near the burnt out town, pacing like a swirling storm cloud. When John catches sight of him, Arthur can almost see the steam coming out of his ears. 

"Don't talk to me unless you got something useful to say," John snaps, "Because apparently I'm turning into a wolf and no one's got any idea what to do about it!" 

Arthur knows from years of experience that there's no point in reasoning with John when he gets this worked up about something, so he just stands there, which works John up more. 

"Just piss off and leave me alone!" John snarls. 

"Marston," Arthur says to him, "C'mere." 

"I ain't in the mood for it!" 

" _C'mere,_ " Arthur repeats, with more force. 

John rounds on him like he's ready to fight – a look that has nothing to do with the wolf infection that has him snapping at everyone, just the same old hot-head John has always been. Arthur's had about enough of it after all these years. He catches John by the scruff of the neck, like he's scolding a misbehaving puppy, and gives him a good, hard shake. 

John goes limp. His eyes blaze murder, but he sags there in Arthur's grip with a low growl rumbling in his chest. This close, Arthur can see that the stitch is still there on his nose. Abigail clipped it, but John snapped at her when she tried to pull it free, and now the thread dangles on either side of the scratch. 

"You want me to finish pulling that stitch out?" Arthur asks. 

"No," John says, but even so, he turns his face up for Arthur to get at it. 

Gently as he can, Arthur pinches the end of the thread and tugs. The rumbling growl from John's chest intensifies before breaking into a whimper, and Arthur finds himself shushing the sound with a soothing voice. It reminds him particularly of the time he had to pull a porcupine quill out of Copper's snout. Never mind that Copper was better behaved than John will ever be. 

The pain seems to temper John's anger, at least, and when the stitch is finally out, he sinks to his knees like all the fight has gone out of him. Arthur pushes back his hat and cards his fingers into John's stringy hair, scratching between his furry ears. John all but melts. He presses up into Arthur's hand, and the back of his jacket shifts where his tail is starting to wag. 

" _Good boy,_ " Arthur says. A moment later he realizes what he just said. It's too late to take the words back, though, and Arthur isn't sure he wants to. He hasn't spent this much time alone with John in years, and despite everything that's brought them together – the ears, tail, and sinking dread that the wolf features seem to be multiplying – things feel almost like they used to. Arthur had no idea how much he missed having John with him, just the two of them, like it had once been so often. He presses harder against John's scalp, drawing out a pleased little sound, and John shifts from where he's pressed his face into Arthur's hip to nuzzle somewhere with a little more purpose. 

Arthur chuckles. "Oh, you think you get a reward after you snapped at everyone like that?" 

"Make it a punishment, then." Arthur knows John is grinning, even with his face turned down as he works open Arthur's fly. 

"You're filthy," Arthur tells him, "...but I suppose that ain't nothin' new." John gets a hand inside his jeans, and tilts his head back to turn that dumbass dopey grin up at Arthur. 

… a dumbass dopey grin with teeth that are much sharper than Arthur remembers. 

Arthur pushes back John's upper lip to get a better look. His teeth are definitely sharper, and his canines have lengthened. Like a wolf's. 

"What is it?" John asks, at the stunned look on Arthur's face. His tongue darts out to lick over Arthur's thumb in a lewd imitation of what he intends to do with his mouth. 

Imagining those sharp teeth around such a sensitive part of himself is nearly enough to make Arthur's cock crawl back inside his body. 

"Uh, just not feeling up to much right now," Arthur offers by way of explanation, "Let's head on back, alright?" 

John pouts, but gets to his feet. He trails after Arthur, and Arthur is again reminded of the way Copper trotted after him everywhere he went. The bittersweet nostalgia does nothing to ease his nerves right now. 

Hosea would track down that witchdoctor, wherever she was. She'd have a cure for it... right? Arthur wasn't sure about that, or about any of this. The only thing that seemed certain right now was that whatever sort of infection was causing John's slow transformation, it was getting worse. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have.... no idea... how to tag this... but there's a horny werewolf in this chapter so watch out for werewolf dick.

> _A wolf's bite turned the werewolf from man to beast. He_ _appears human during the day, but by night, when the moon is full, his true form is revealed. The werewolf will obey no master and will stop at nothing to quench his blood-thirst._

"Reading that old book again?" 

Arthur startles and glances up over the edge of the yellowed bestiary. Hosea's got that fond old look on his face, like he's about to account some embarrassing memory that Arthur would rather forget. 

"You used to take that one all the time when you were younger," Hosea goes on, leaning over to get a look at the book, "Dutch and I were so proud, we thought you were practicing your reading. Turns out you were practicing drawing the pictures!" 

The illustrations in the book were particularly striking, Arthur had always thought so, and it's one such picture that's caught his attention now. It shows an enormous wolf-man, walking on two legs but for all else a beast. Scraps of clothing cling to him, torn apart from his transformation into this hulking form. Arthur manages a strained smile at Hosea. 

"Find anything with that witchdoctor?" he asks. 

Hosea draws a piece of paper from his pocket and offers it to Arthur. Unfolding it, Arthur finds a list of herbs written in an unfamiliar, jagged hand. 

"It's a potion, of sorts," Hosea explains, "She said it should put our John right back to his old self." 

Hope swells in Arthur's chest. He's seen most of the herbs growing around here. "I can get these for you," he says, getting to his feet. Hosea nods his thanks while Arthur is already off towards the horses. 

He reads through the list of potion ingredients again. Yarrow, there was some of that growing close to Valentine. Oregano was just about everywhere. Bay bolete would be a little harder to find, but Arthur was sure there had been some north of Strawberry. He’ll be able to make it there and back in the day. It won’t be a moment too soon, with the full moon rising that night. 

* * *

Hours later, Arthur regrets asking John to join him. 

John often isn’t much help on anything that isn't a gunfight, and gathering herbs is no different. While Arthur hunches over the patch of bay bolete, digging them out by the root, John makes himself useful doing absolutely nothing. 

Arthur straightens with a painful twinge in his neck and levels a look at him. Before he can give John Hell, he notices the glazed, glassy look in John's eyes. 

"You feeling alright?" he asks. 

John blinks. "Huh?" 

Arthur gets to his feet to take a better look at John. Last time, Arthur had noticed his teeth growing sharper, and they're even sharper now. His eyes, staring blankly, have taken on an amber hue. 

"You're actin' kind of funny," Arthur tells him. 

"Oh," John half-agrees, "Yeah," which isn't very reassuring at all. 

The sound of hoof-beats carries up the path as someone approaches. Arthur drags John behind a rock, out of sight while they wait to see who it is. For that moment, it's easy to forget the strange path their lives have taken lately – the potential of highway robbery brings them right back to old times, almost, if John would stop wriggling against Arthur so much. Arthur puts an elbow to his ribs. 

Wincing, John settles for a few seconds, then starts again almost immediately with more purpose. Arthur's eyebrows shoot up as he realizes John is attempting to rub his crotch against Arthur's ass. 

" _The Hell?_ " Arthur growls, "Quit that!" 

The travelers round the corner at just that moment. Two well-dressed gentlemen on fine horses, probably rich tourists on their way to Strawberry. Perfect marks to have their pockets lightened a bit. Arthur and John do just that, and it's not until they're twenty dollars richer and the terrified gentlemen have fled into the forest that Arthur rounds on John again. 

"What was that about?" Arthur demands. 

John stares at him, glassy-eyed. "What was what about?" 

"You humping against me like, like..." _Like a dog_ is what Arthur wants to say, but the horror that accompanies that realization makes the words stick in his throat. 

A dopey smile spreads over John's face as he misunderstands completely. "Yeah, let's keep going with that." 

Arthur drags a hand down his face. "Marston, we got to get these herbs back to Hosea so he can put you back to normal. Now get picking." 

Arthur resumes digging up the bay bolete, while John resumes being as useless as he was before. A prickling feeling creeps up the back of Arthur's neck as he can feel John's eyes on him. When he looks over his shoulder, John is staring at his ass. 

"I could fuck you. If you wanted," John offers. Like it's a favor. 

"You... want to fuck _me,_ " Arthur repeats with a chuckle. "It don't work like that, Marston. I ain't bending over for you." 

"Why not?" 

How does Arthur say that he likes fucking John more than he can rightly admit, but when it comes to being on the receiving end, the dopey puppy-dog act doesn't really do it for him? Arthur much prefers someone more commanding in that role, someone he can give up control to and trust to take him apart in the best possible way. 

John has never expressed any interest in doing anything other than what Arthur tells him to when they fool around, not when they were younger, not since things picked up again with the strange arrival of his wolf ears, tail, and the other features that have started cropping up. Is this new desire part of that transformation? Arthur doubts he'd find that answer written in any sort of bestiary. 

"We could try it, at least," John offers when Arthur doesn't give him an answer. Arthur ignores him. 

* * *

Another hour or so, they would have been too late getting back, but now Hosea nods as he sorts through the herbs they gathered. 

"Looks like I've got everything I need," he says. The herbs are trimmed in neat little piles in front of him. "I'll get started on it right away. Should be ready by tomorrow." 

"Tomorrow?" Arthur repeats, frustration rising in his voice, "Tomorrow is too late. The full moon is _tonight._ " Hosea gives him a level look that never fails to cow Arthur's temper, and Arthur tries to compose himself. "John's starting to act real... _funny_ ," Arthur goes on, but Hosea shakes his head. 

"These things take time, Arthur. Just keep an eye on him if you're worried." 

_Worried_ isn't the half of it. John sits nearby against a tree. The dazed expression on his face is even more pronounced, mouth hanging open and sharp teeth visible as he stares up at the darkening sky. The wolf-man in the drawing returns to Arthur with a sick, sinking dread. That huge, hulking beast, with long claws and a snout full of sharp teeth... 

A song starts up around the fire, voices carrying through the evening air. The tune would change pretty quick if John were to transform in camp. 

"C'mon, we're heading out," Arthur tells John. 

John gets to his feet like he barely heard the words, trailing after Arthur in a daze. Dutch beams as he watches them go, happy that his boys seem to have worked out whatever was between them and are working together again. He calls after them to bring back a good score. Arthur nods, but if things are going the way he thinks they're going, he's not sure there's going to be much left of John after this. 

Arthur has no idea where they're going to go, aside from the fact that it has to be as far away from camp as possible. They ride for nearly an hour, until they come upon a secluded outcropping in a cliff. No one is likely to come anywhere near them out here. Arthur hasn't thought much of how he'll protect himself yet. He's got his full arsenal of guns on his horse, but it's not like he can shoot John, even if he does turn into a bloodthirsty beast. He tries to follow Hosea's advice of keeping an eye on John. 

John didn’t ask at all about where they were going, or what they were doing. He hasn't spoken at all in the past hour. His eyes are on the evening sky again, while the wolf ears atop his head listen carefully to the sounds around them. 

"It's too warm," he says at last. He gets to his feet and moves away from the fire. 

That's worrying, to say the least. The night is cool and the little fire Arthur built is barely a pile of sticks, giving off more light than heat. He follows as John moves closer to the base of the cliff to slump against it, watching him carefully. 

"John..." he says, "Whatever's happening to you tonight, you got to fight it." 

John groans. He lifts his head to look up at Arthur, eyes glowing amber. For the first time, it seems like John has some idea of what's going to happen to him. 

"I just... just need something to take my mind off it," he rasps. "Maybe if..." 

"Maybe if what?" 

John turns a pleading look upon him. "If I could fuck you..." One of John's hands settles on Arthur's rump. "… It would help?" 

_Shit_... would it? With John desperate like this, the idea is even less appealing than it was earlier, but Arthur is willing to try anything at this point. 

He swings a leg over John to straddle him, and John's face darkens with desire. 

"Alright. Let's go Marston, show me what you've got." 

John's already hard, the bulge in his jeans pressing up against Arthur's ass. Arthur rolls his hips a bit, drawing out a low groan from John. Arthur isn't quite so enthusiastic, given the circumstances, but John's groping and squeezing of his ass isn't entirely unpleasant. Maybe he could get used to this. 

"Let me get on top," John says. 

Arthur considers it. "Nah. You're fine there." 

A second later, Arthur finds himself flipped onto his back with John on top of him. He's so stunned he doesn't even fight it. When did John get so strong? His hands are on Arthur's thighs, spreading his legs open while John grinds their clothed cocks together. A jolt of real desire pools in Arthur's gut. 

He reaches up to take John's shoulders and pull him closer. John is never like this when they're together. He’s usually content with whatever Arthur tells him to do, but having him take control, push Arthur into the position he wants, loom over him like Arthur belongs to him entirely... 

Then it happens. 

John lets out a cry that isn't from pleasure at all. Moonlight shines over his face. Arthur watches in horror as John's teeth lengthen, while clawed hands scrape over the ground at his side. 

"No, no, no," Arthur repeats, "John, you got to fight this!" He grabs John by the chin and slaps him hard across the face. It does nothing but turn John's head to the side so Arthur can see the slowly lengthening snout. He scrambles back, away from John and the pained sounds that are turning into growls. John's body shifts, shoulders growing wider while his limbs lengthen and sprout hair. His face is the worst of all as it changes what's left of John into a wolf entirely. 

At least the furry black ears and tail are familiar by this point. 

"John," Arthur says slowly, "John, you got to listen to me." The beast turns to him, teeth bared. Arthur's never seen something so unnatural, so wrong to exist in this world. The horses scream, breaking away from their tethers and taking off into the trees. They got the right idea – and Arthur does the same. 

He makes it barely five steps away before the beast is upon him, pinning him beneath its hulking form. Hot breath wafts over him as he struggles while drool drips off its long teeth. Arthur manages a kick to its gut and uses the momentary wince to free himself again and start running. 

There's nowhere to go. That thing is huge, it can cover ground faster than Arthur could ever run. It prowls closer to Arthur, hunched forward with its long, clawed arms dragging on the ground. The illustration in the bestiary had shown the creature in scraps of fabric with the pants carefully ripped to keep its crotch covered, but not even scraps of John's pants remain over it, just a fucking enormous hard dick that Arthur had agreed to get fucked by not two minutes ago. 

The beast draws closer. 

Arthur wants to scream. What comes out instead is a firm, scolding " _No_ ," like he used to say to call Copper off. 

The beast stops, ears twitching. 

_"Stay,_ " Arthur commands. It's a struggle for the beast to obey, but it does, settling back on its haunches. That horrifically enormous dick between its legs is pointed straight at Arthur. Its body strains forward, fighting the command, until at last lust overwhelms it, and it stoops forward, lowering its snout to start licking its own cock. 

" _Urg,_ " is the disgusted sound that comes out of Arthur as he watches the beast lick itself off. There's a lot of drool involved. Arthur had once tried something similar when he was younger and dumber, buty lacked the flexibility to get his own cock in his mouth. Dogs could reach so easily... 

At last the beast lifts its head, tongue laving over its snout as it cleans itself. There's something familiar in the sated look in its eyes, like a dopey puppy. 

Arthur risks it. "C'mere," he says. 

The beast prowls closer. It towers above Arthur, blocking out the night sky. Razor sharp teeth are barely a foot from Arthur's face. Arthur lifts a hand, and places it atop the beast's head to scratch behind its ears. 

"Alright," he offers in a soothing tone, "You ain't so bad. Just a big old mutt, ain't you?" 

Humid breath wafts over him as the creature lets out a satisfied huff. It lurches forward again, body sagging, and Arthur finds himself with a whole lot of werewolf in his lap. 

"Good boy," Arthur gasps out as he's nearly crushed. The beast is heavy as all Hell, but it's better than being eaten, fucked, or any other manner of untimely death. Arthur searches the ground for a stick, or anything he can throw for the beast to go fetch and get off his lap, but there's nothing he can reach. He sighs and continues scratching the beast's ears, while its tail wags against the ground in a rhythmic beat. 

* * *

"There you are," Hosea says when John and Arthur return to camp the next morning. He pauses as he looks them up and down. "Looks like you got into some trouble out there." 

What he means is, there are large patches of crusted wolf-drool on Arthur's clothes, and John is dressed like a complete lunatic – barefoot, in a spare union suit with Arthur's blue coat wrapped around him. The clothes he'd been wearing had been ripped to shreds during the transformation, and this was all they had on their horses. 

"You could say that," Arthur offers. 

John's hat survived, at least. John takes it off when he sits down where Hosea beckons. The little black wolf ears remain atop his head. 

Hosea presents the potion in a steaming tin mug. "This should put you back to normal." 

Arthur breathes out a sigh of relief. What he witnessed last night... he doesn't want to deal with a huge, horny werewolf ever again. The idiot remembers nothing of the night before, at least. Not the transformation, not that Arthur had basically agreed to let John fuck him before the shift happened. 

"Now, think about what I said before you drink it," Hosea says to John, "Animals sense things differently. There might be some benefits to staying in this form." 

John stares into the murky potion. "There are… some things I haven't tried," he says, turning his gaze up at Arthur. 

There's something familiar in his eyes. It strikes Arthur that maybe John remembers more of last night than he's letting on, because the pleading look is startlingly similar to when John asked to fuck Arthur... and Arthur agreed. 

"Just drink the damned potion, Marston," Arthur says. 


End file.
